Pastor
by beastofroses
Summary: "And I close with a familiar yet necessary warning against the foul creatures of the devil…"


**~Pastor~**

**by Beastofroses**

_**Concept and characters the property of Stephenie Meyer**_

I sneak a peek at Frederick sitting to my right as I tune out my father's voice. A childhood friend, and longtime member of the congregation, he has heard the sermon almost as many times as I have, yet he never smirks nor rolls his eyes in exasperation as I have. Father has remarked, on several occasions, that Frederick's attitude is just what the Anglican Church needs these days, and often, I wonder if he should be my father's successor instead of me.

Now, Frederick's thin lips are set in a grim line, his brow furrowed in all seriousness as he concentrates on the lessons my father is preaching. Feeling my eyes on his face, he glares disapprovingly at me and surreptitiously gestures toward my father. Stifling a huff of restlessness, I turn my attention on the pastor, who is frowning sternly at the audience as he continues to speak against witchcraft.

It often makes me uncomfortable, hearing him all but condone the murders of suspected witches and wizards. Though I have followed my father during many of his frequent "missions," not once have I encountered a being I truly believed was in league with the devil. Sometimes in my dreams, I can still hear the lingering cries of self-innocence.

An auburn-haired figure, head bowed in prayer, catches my eye. Sitting across the aisle and two pews before me, right in front of the pastor himself, is Anna Landon, the miller's only daughter. Most known for her uncommon beauty and stringent care of propriety, I know instead a shy young woman whose nurturing nature and love for flowers have given birth to some of the most beautiful flora anyone has ever seen. Young men see beyond her personality and focus more on the considerable dowry the miller has reserved for his daughter whereas I see the quick flash of a smile hidden beneath her wide-brimmed hat as I share with her a joke.

Father would be more than pleased to arrange an alliance between our families, and the miller would not hesitate to send his daughter to the pastor's household. However, I have not said a word about my desire to marry Anna – Miss Landon – to anyone, not even my friends. I cannot claim to understand what the other gender subjects herself to, my mother died when I was very young, but I refuse to treat Miss Landon, or anyone else for that matter, as if she was less than human and force her into a situation she did not want. The loss of control of one's own life, I understood too well.

"Amen."

The chorus of the congregation startles me out of my thoughts. Everyone in the small church stands, and I hurry to my father's side as many others push to the front as well. When I find him in the flock of eager Anglicans, I realize the miller is already speaking to him.

"Wonderful service, as always, Pastor Cullen."

"I am glad you enjoyed it, Mr. Landon," Father replied humbly. "And you, Miss Landon. How did you find the service today?"

Anna, who is standing behind her father, dips in a quick curtsy. "I found your sermon on the dangers of witchcraft riveting as always, Pastor Cullen," she whispers, her head bowed.

Familiar with her inability to lie convincingly, I cannot help feeling slightly disappointed in her approval of Father's actions against those I believe are innocents or merely misled individuals. However, as Anna turns to leave, all thoughts that besmirched the lady's image flee from my mind, and I find it hard not to go after her and declare my intentions then and there. I watch helplessly as she accompanies her father to the exit.

I mechanically greet and thank the other congregates, my brain still reprimanding me for not gathering up the courage to say something to her. Mentally, I vow to approach her the next chance I get.

"Pastor Cullen."

My father and I turn to the last member. "Ah Mr. Amherst. Joining us for our next mission Friday evening, I assume?"

As expected, Frederick nods with more enthusiasm than the others. "Nott and I suspect the Halifax sisters of witchcraft and will be investigating it ourselves for the next few days." As he reports this, Frederick lowers his voice, but I can still hear the hunger for Father's praise behind the words.

Father beams at Frederick proudly. "The city of London does not deserve a servant like you." To Frederick and his father, Father says, "Come to my home tonight. Carlisle and I would like to sup with you."

Frederick's father smiles and accepts the invitation. As the older Mr. Amherst continues to converse with my father, I motion to Frederick to follow me outside. No longer obliged to stay in the church, I have a sudden urge to step into the sunlight.

Once outside, Frederick's grave features break into his usual cheery grin. "Come, let us go for a walk." Gladly, I go with him as he sets out for the heart of London.

Swinging his arms care-freely, Frederick sighs loudly. "What I wouldn't do to leave the city." Surprised, I ask him why. He snorts. "You try living next to the Thames, smelling human stench night and day. Last summer, when I visited my cousin in Middlesex, and I must admit, the rural air did wonders to my attitude."

I can not help laughing. "So your plans for the future?" After church on Sundays, thoughts of my own future with Anna Landon slip often in my conversations.

Frederick shrugs. "Start my own congregation somewhere on the outskirts of this rotten city. Have a family."

Suddenly, a figure moves quickly at the corner of my right eye. Frederick sees it too; he snaps his head right as well. A tall man cloaked in a heavy coat is leaning against the building, his hat covering his face, as he seems to lounge casually in the shadows. Otherwise, the scene looks serene and nothing out of place.

I turn, dismissing the disturbance for a trick of the light, but Frederick continues to stare in the direction of the man, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. I tug on his arm, and he follows me for a few steps before pulling me behind a cart of fruit. As I open my mouth to protest, he puts a finger to his lips and looks back at the man with the coat.

There is a gap between the shadows of the building the man is leaning against and the shadows of the next building. The patch of sunshine in the island of darkness, it seems, is not very large, perhaps spanning the length of one arm. However, as we watch, hidden crudely by a farmer's cart, the man slowly moves from his position and begins to walk, stopping at that line separating the sun's rays from the shadows of the building. From the way he curls his hands into fists, he seems to be preparing for something.

And then –

If I had blinked at that moment, I would have missed it, I think, my mouth opened in shock. From the gasp Frederick lets out, I know he had just seen the same spectacle as I had.

In my mind's eye, I see it all again. The cloaked man darts across the patch with a speed I have never seen. But even more amazing than the velocity he launches himself over the sunlight is the glitter that erupts where his hands should be and where a small bit of his neck is exposed above the collar of the coat. The sunlight seems to glint off the skin as if it is made of the metal of a sword.

I watch the scene replay in my mind, believing that perhaps I am going insane. Frederick recovers from his shock faster than I do; brusquely, he knocks my shoulder, and both of us scramble to keep our sights on the supernatural man as the stranger weaves his way closer and closer to the Thames.

The area becomes less and less populated as the smell becomes worse and worse. With fewer people to mingle with, Frederick and I draw farther and farther back. I have a strange feeling that if this man finds us following him, Frederick and I would never make it back for supper.

But the oddly clad man seems preoccupied with something else. He does not look over his shoulder as he reaches the bank of the murky brown river and jumps out of view. Coming out from the shadows of the last buildings, we hurry to the edge and see a thin ledge of land that ends in with a large sewage tunnel opening. Low, guttural voices waft from the tunnel. However, dizzy from the fumes from the river and sewer, we dare not go further alone. Hazed, Frederick and I practically run back to my father's modest home to discuss what it was we had seen.

"…a creature who glistened in the sunlight!" Frederick is explaining wildly to my father and his. "Pastor Cullen, what soldier of darkness glistens in the sunlight?"

Father moves to pace around the table, pondering the tale we had told. "I have heard stories. Stories from Catholic friends of beings in the Vatican seen shimmering in the sun, just as you've described. Enemies of the Church, they are. Believed to fear, above all else, relics of God."

Mr. Amherst, having a hard time digesting our story, bewilderedly asks, "What? Who are they?"

"Vampires."

Friday night approaches too quickly. Father, suffering from another weak spell, charges me to lead the mangy group of six to investigate the vampire that lives in our sewers.

Sunday night's supper was spent solely on discussing the behaviors and characteristics of vampires, blood-suckers. Tuesday night, Father told me of his plan to capture the vampire, and I haven't slept a wink since. Wednesday, I had pleaded with him, desperate to change his mind, but he was adamant. Finally, tired of my begging, Father hit me. Not hard, but he had not laid an unloving finger on me since I was ten. Since then, I dared not bring up the subject.

As we gather in the church for prayer before our mission, I refuse to meet her eyes, for I fear what I will see in them. Devotion to her God? Sorrow for what may happen? Or, God forbid, indifference toward it all?

Father leads us in prayer, calling upon the love and watchful eyes of our Lord. 'Tis blasphemy, but at this moment, I do not care for God. All I care about is getting her home safely.

"Amen."

I stand up with the others, and finally I look in my ' eyes. In some, I see utter fear: fear of the unknown and fear for what this foul creature may do to them. In others, I see an iron determination to protect their families and their God. In one, I see a vacant stare as if all the flowers in the world could never cheer her up again.

Mr. Landon is speaking into her ear, and I hear some of the words, "…God's will…your duty." The pain I feel in my heart is indescribable.

I see myself take the cross Father offers me as well as the cup of holy water. The five men and one woman are similarly armed, some wearing rosaries around their necks. He blesses me solemnly and does the same to all the others. I shuffle forward and mumble, "Let us go." I walk past Father without so much as a glance.

I lead our army toward the Thames, which makes its presence known with its stench. When we arrive at the last of the buildings, Anna wordlessly takes a torch from Fredericks. Without a good-bye, she moves forward, the light from her torch surrounding her as if a shield. I train my eyes on the light, seeing it inch closer and closer to the edge of the Thames.

However, only halfway there, the flames of the torch flicker in a certain direction, as if someone has just run past. Beyond our help, Anna feels it too, for she turns, her eyes wide open in horror. The flames dance again, and Anna whirls wildly, finally losing the calm she had so strongly showed.

A laugh, comparable to the chimes of the church bells, echoes.

In the silence of the night, we could all hear the sickly sweet voice in the darkness, "Hello, there."

No one dares to breathe.

I see Anna staring at something in front of her, her arms paralyzed at her sides. The flame of her torch continues to flicker oddly as if she is surrounded by a force we cannot see.

"Come closer, dear. We won't bite." The musical voice chuckles.

I am overwhelmed with the impulse to move toward the creature, and I am not the only one. Several men behind me shuffle nervously as if their feet itch to move them closer to the enemy.

However, Anna, the closest to the voice and most vulnerable to the power dripping from each word, moves two shaky steps closer.

"Come."

Another three steps, and a man steps into the light right in front of Anna. Two others emerge into the light on each side of Anna. The middle one has gotten rid of the coat and the hat, but from his stance, I know this is the same man I had seen.

The devil's creatures are the most beautiful men I have ever seen. Though their shirts are tattered and their forearms smudged with human filth, I can see their magnificent muscles and stone-hard chests. Their faces all have the similar chiseled complexion, as if they were born from the hands of the same sculptor. Their upturned lips form not a cheery smile but curiously make me relax. They sport dark indentations underneath their eyes, similar to those of my father when he does not sleep.

What captures my attention instantly, however, is how coal-black their eyes, void of any emotion, are.

"As you can see," the leader says, his lips moving so fluidly, "we have not fed in several days." His head tilts to the side as he stares at the entranced Anna curiously. "Are you an angel, a gift, from the God who shows compassion even to His counterpart's servant?" His laugh, though pleasantly sarcastic, contains a strong malice that makes me wince. "What say you, Jonas? Shall we share her with our coven?"

The man on Anna's left, one whose face begins to show traces of ravenous hunger, replies, "They will find their own prey. We shall have ours before they return."

As if satisfied with Jonas' answer, the leader moves forward. "This will not hurt."

I watch as the unusually tall man lowers his head, as his lips approach those of Anna's, and the spell he had put on me breaks. Silently and furiously, I light my own torch, and the others behind me do the same. I feel my blood boil and my heart pound as I sprint out, screaming like a banshee, never letting my eyes off that Godless creature.

They seem genuinely startled to see our group, firelight leading our way, emerge from the darkness, as if Anna's presence demanded their full attention. Our vampire's gaze darts from us to Anna, torn between killing us and drinking her. His fellows glare at us fiercely, frustrated that their meal has been cut short. From the tales Father told me, I know they could have fled before we circled them, and strangely, they had not.

My men hold their crosses out like shields as they cower slightly in the statue-like figure of the man whose hand still clutches Anna's arm. But I hold my cross like a weapon.

"Let her go," I command in a steely voice I hardly recognize.

The man – vampire – stares at our crosses and bottles of holy water and lets out a deep, throaty laugh. Smirking and looking oddly amused, he releases Anna's arm. Still under the influence of his presence, Anna remains where she is, her eyes cloudy.

Frederick hesitantly reaches out, giving Anna's arm a sound slap. Jolted from the hypnosis, Anna jumps and, after realizing where she is, breaks the circle, hysterically running for the safety of the city.

Wary, I turn my attention back on the three vampires, whose eyes impossibly became blacker. "I do enjoy a game of catch every now and then," Jonas says thirstily. All signs of amusement drained from his face.

The rest happens so quickly. Jonas and his friend pounce on two men as the leader strides in the direction where Anna had run. Shouts erupt as the other three men try to rescue their comrades, bewildered at how their weapons could fail them. However, I only have eyes for the leader, the one who had threatened Anna, and I break off from the group, determined to keep Anna safe.

He does not run fast, not as fast as he could. Whether he is taunting me or genuinely too hungry to dart after Anna, I do not know. In the dimly lit streets, I see his figure moving constantly away from me. I have yet to see Anna, and I silently pray she is safe.

Behind me, I hear the remaining men, only three, hurry after me. Mentally, I urge them to catch up, yet I dare not slow down.

I see the vampire slip into an alley, the cramped lane Anna had been told to follow all the way to Mr. Amherst's home. Adrenaline rushing, I pick up my speed. Anna could not have reached home yet. She could not have –

As I turn the corner, a force unimaginably strong knocks me off my feet. The shock has me paralyzed, unable to fight. For a flash of a second, I feel his hot breath fleetingly enveloping my body, faintly aware of shouts from my friends. An instant later, a prickling sensation stings my neck, my arm, and my chest. I feel a cold, malevolent force flow rapidly through my veins, those shouts now turning into blood-curdling screams.

The cold feeling is replaced by a hot, searing pain comparable to the pain I had felt in my chest earlier in the church. The yells are dying out, one by one. One shriek fades rapidly, as if the man is being carried away.

Silence rings in my ears. I am numb from the pain, and when I believe it over, a fresh wave of intolerable, pulsing agony washes over me. The stillness of the night is broken again by a particularly chilling scream that seems to travel through my very bones, and I am sure that it came from my open mouth. Though impossible, the anguish intensifies, and in a flash of white-hot pain, consciousness fades away.


End file.
